


Blitzkrieg

by jacksgreysays (jacksgreyson), jacksgreyson



Series: The Six Paths of Tetsuki Kaiza [2]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, First Meetings, Gen, Poetry, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 16:24:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11406132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksgreyson/pseuds/jacksgreysays, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksgreyson/pseuds/jacksgreyson
Summary: A chance encounter between a shadow of a boy and a girl from a world of Flames.(A Trailblazers x Kuroko no Basuke fusion. Originally posted on tumblr)





	1. Part One

_No_   
_she chokes out_   
_heart in her throat_   
_pulse and breath_   
_teeth biting into_   
_muscle and sinew_   
_blood on her tongue._   
_No_

—

“Oh,” says the girl, sidelong glance unsurprised, “Nice trick.”

For a moment he doesn’t understand, glances around to see who she might be speaking to. Surely it can’t be him.

There are people walking, yes, but the crowd flows around them like a river around a rock. Unheeding, unaware.

“I’m talking to you,” she says, head turning, gaze more focused. Looking directly at him.

“You can see me?”

—

_We were the fallen,_   
_sunlight through grey clouds,_   
_air heavy_   
_foreboding._

_The sweet relief_   
_of closed eyes,_   
_secrets hidden behind_   
_a false dream._

_Scraping feet_   
_scratching nails,_   
_one two rhythm_   
_of being on the run._

_We were the fallen,_   
_without wings or fire_   
_or swords_   
_empty._

—

The chatter of the restaurant is annoying, but all the better to cover their conversation.

“Vanilla milkshake,” she says, placing it on the table in front of him. Already the glass is beading with condensation, confection spilling over with cream and sprinkles.

Across from him she sits, sandwich and chips in a bright red basket, sliced pickle on the side.

“I’m surprised no one tried to steal the table,” she says, gesturing to the crowd waiting–standing room only.

“It’s not really invisibility,” he tries to explain, “It’s just that people don’t notice me.”

“Except for me,” she says, matter of fact, before biting into her sandwich.

“Yes,” he says, “except for you…”

They sit in near silence, chewing sounds notwithstanding, as he considers the situation.

“What did you mean by nice trick?” he asks, finally.

She pauses, swallows, furrows her brow, “Well, I thought you were doing it on purpose.”

—

_the world sighs_   
_scars forgotten_   
_shuddering fearing_   
_another blow_

_two minutes_   
_to midnight_   
_hands creeping_   
_forward_

_quickly quietly_   
_the loss of faith_   
_sudden and sharp_   
_our last_

—

“If this is what you’re like without training,” she continues, as if her words aren’t currently shaking his foundations, “You’ll probably be ridiculously powerful if you ever get activated properly.”

Training? Activated? Powerful?

Him? The boy nobody can see?

Impossible.

“Anyway,” she adds, finishing up her basket–the sandwich long consumed, the pickle and chips swiftly disappearing–before wiping off the grease on her fingers, “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I’m only here for a short job, so don’t worry about running into me again.”

She stands up, the action jarring him out of his thoughts.

“Enjoy the milkshake, yeah? As an apology,” she says, before leaving.

“W-wait, please!” He calls out, hand reaching out, but not touching. The look she casts is forbidding, warning. He wouldn’t dare.

But she stops and humors him anyway.

“What did you mean about…” he trails off, unsure. He doesn’t know enough to ask questions, only knows that he has questions.

A different expression flickers over her face: pity tinged with guilt.

“It’s called Flames.”


	2. Part Two

_scurrying, chittering_  
_crumbs on the floor_  
_tiny paws, tiny mouths_  
_patient and afraid_

_thudding and whining_  
_along comes the dog_  
_tamed and shameless_  
_but well fed_

_beware the cat_

—

No one is at home.

This is not a surprise.

No one is ever at home.

The girl–“it might be better if we don’t know each other’s names yet”–looks around curiously. He wonders what she sees, if she can spot the details of his life as easily as she could perceive him in a crowd.

“Please come in,” he says, toeing off his shoes and placing them neatly in the cubby by the door.

“Ah, please excuse me,” she responds by reflex, and doing the same with her own shoes.

“My house,” he says, inanely, as he guides her to the dining room, “You said somewhere private would be better. Would you like tea?”

“If it’s not any trouble,” she says, looking at him–and what a surprise that is every time–expression confused and nearly concerned, “I thought maybe you’d bring me to an empty park or something like that, not your house.”

He shrugs, kettle heating, preparing two cups.

“You’re overly trusting,” she chides, and perhaps, in a way, she’s right.

It’d be more accurate to say he’s desperate.

—

_eight strokes_  
_empty_  
_horizon curving_  
_endless nonexistent_

_at the heart_  
_of every wish_  
_is a lack_

—

Over cups of steaming tea, the girl tells him about impossibilities. Powers beyond human capability sealed away within every human on the planet.

He thinks maybe she is playing a cruel trick–he her gullible audience–until she actually shows him.

It costs him one hundred yen, but she gives the sliced halves of the coin right back.

“Mine are Lightning Flames,” she explains, fingernail sparking bright green.

The expression on his face must speak for itself, because she continues, “Yeah, I’m not sure why they’re called that. There’s a kind called Rain too and it basically acts just like water does. Really, the only type which has a name that makes sense is the Sun Flames.”

“And you think I have these Flames, too?” he asks, hopeful but doubting. He’s only ever been a shadow–or maybe a lens if he’s being generous–to someone else’s light.

Again that expression of pity and guilt flickers over her face. She hesitates.

“… not yet.”

—

_the absence of pleasure_  
_is apathy_  
_numbness spreading_  
_cold skin_

_the absence of pain_  
_is pleasure_  
_relief and recovery_  
_salt copper heat_

_which is stronger?_  
_which is true?_

—

“I need to consult with the others,” she says, firm in her denial, “I don’t know how much is safe to tell you yet. There’s the very real risk that if I tell you more–”

“–you’ll have to kill me?” he interrupts, disappointed and snide because of it.

Her silence is rebuke and confirmation both, enough that he stops. Remember the coin, his blood seems to sing, how easily she split the metal as if paper.

The sound of her putting on her shoes is simultaneously ominous and reassuring.

“My card,” she says, which jars him out of his fear. “I know, right? What kind of teenager has business cards–how pretentious,” she rolls her eyes as she holds out the card.

Ivory card stock with rich green letters providing an email address and phone number. No name, though, only a strange crest at the top and a lightning bolt below that.

“There are dangerous secrets in this world,” she warns, “but if you decide you really want to know or if you need my help… if you think the knowledge is worth the danger. Then you’ll know how to reach me.”

He takes the card.

She leaves, still nameless to him.

The card goes into a desk drawer, forgotten for almost two years.


	3. Part Three

_brushing past_  
_strangers in a crowd_  
_wishes_  
_falling from your hand_

_curled beneath_  
_smothering sheets_  
_blankets and paperwork_  
_tangled_

_a misstep_  
_melody carries on_  
_blisters and threadbare shoes_  
_whisper of devotion_

—

It’s early afternoon when she shows up, and he’s not sure why that seems odd to him.

Not sure why it feels like she ought to have showed up in the middle of the night. Broken down his door, flashing green lights and danger in her hands.

It’s weird to see her in the light of day, even though that’s how they met last time.

Last time she wasn’t wearing a suit and tie, lethal as a bullet

He feels underdressed in his street ball clothes.

—

_pressure against my skull_  
_squeezing ideas into diamonds,_  
_ruthless bitter pills of starlight_  
_scraping inside my throat,_  
_swallowed down gasps_  
_along with every little fear,_  
_hidden beneath my skin_  
_a map of the far flung exit._

_Run._

—

“Congratulations,” says lightning bolt in green ink, “on Seirin’s victory, Kuroko-san,” the smile on her face as sharp and well-crafted as the suit she wears.

This is not the girl who bought a stranger a vanilla milkshake as an apology while scarfing down a sandwich and chips heedlessly. This is not the girl who told him he was too trusting, told him to beware treading into stormy waters.

This is the girl whose parlor trick can slice through metal. The girl who didn’t deny homicide as a possible–and even feasible–method of secret keeping.

The girl who could see him in a crowd when nobody else could.

A crest and a uniform and a girl who can do impossible things.

Just because they’re only meeting again now doesn’t mean that she and the others–the ones she needed to consult with, the ones who had sent her on a job in the first place–hadn’t been keeping tabs on him the entire time.

His life is not a mystery to them.

It’s not as much of a surprise as he thought it would be.

“Thank you,” he says, “It’s nice to see you again.”

The smile he gets this time is truer, but no less sharp, “You too.”

—

_footprints in the dirt_  
_candle at the crossroads_  
_the devil appears_  
_and laughs_

_can’t trade away_  
_what’s no longer yours_

_stained glass hopes_  
_prayer books in the pews_  
_vulnerability_  
_unanswered_

_no rest for the wicked_

—

They go back to his house, same as before, two cups of tea.

She does not need to look around and observe the details of his life.

She already knows.

Except.

“I’ll be honest. I’m not sure why you’ve contacted me,” she says. “You’re not in any trouble, and there are plenty of people who can see you now.”

You’re not that desperate, lonely boy anymore, she doesn’t say.

They watch the steam rise from their cups, silent.

“Do you play basketball?” he asks, finally, after the lull has passed.

She shakes her head, “My choice of extracurricular activities were more individual than that. Archery and aikido,” she explains.

“Were?” he repeats.

Her mouth tightens for a moment, “I have other obligations now,” she says, and it doesn’t take a genius to understand what she’s referring to.

“I love basketball,” he says, like it’s torn out of him, like a confession, “but I don’t have a future there.”

Not like his former teammates, not like Kagami-kun. The only edges he had in games were determination and misdirection. Neither of them can sustain a career in basketball.

“Why did you ask me to meet you?” she asks, already beginning to piece it together.

He has no future in basketball. But that doesn’t mean he has no future elsewhere.

He looks at her: suit and obligations, green ink on ivory card stock.

There’s a future there, even if he’s not sure he wants it.


	4. Part Four

_yowling cat_  
_outside my window_  
_what is it you say?_  
_though night falls_  
_the dog next door_  
_barks and barks away_

 _trash bins lining_  
_pockmarked roads_  
_soldiers on their guard_  
_streaking tail lights_  
_sirens blaring_  
_smoking wreckage charred_

 _upon my skin_  
_bright red ink_  
_curves intertwined_  
_pressure bruising_  
_delicate vessels_  
_wavering blue and lined_

—

“What is it that you want to do with your life?” she asks, nowhere near as patronizing as she could have been. She is not asking the way his the school counselor does, ready to guide him on his way–university, training school, straight to work–but rather one honestly curious teen to another as equals. Or perhaps even one seeking the other as an example.

Often, choices are not a result of desire but of necessity.

“Maybe,” he says, hesitates, falls silent.

She does not prompt him to continue, does nothing but wait patiently and drink her tea. A snake poised, ready but still.

Snakes only attack those who encroach on their space.

He ponders and drinks his tea.

—

 _train tracks_  
_clattering,_  
_three am_  
_whistles_  
_beware,_  
_look out,_  
_railroad crossing_  
_stay behind_  
_the yellow line_  
_incoming_  
_southbound_  
_four minutes_  
_doors opening,_  
_doors closing_  
_on benches_  
_we sit_  
_skin prickling_  
_excuse me,_  
_fogged out_  
_hunched over_  
_strangers_  
_waiting_  
_same train_

—

He has no future in basketball. He was never more than a one trick pony, an accessory to other, better players.

But that’s… selfish. It’s a self-centered way of thinking. Basketball has always been about more than raw talent and unstoppable techniques. It's about teamwork and effort and the people that helped them win.

He has no future in playing basketball. He can’t compete on the court, not at the higher, professional levels. But that doesn’t mean he’s completely cut off from it. He can still be part of the world, even if he’s not center stage.

“Maybe,” he says again, still hesitant.

She watches, waits; doesn’t tell him to turn back.

She doesn’t need to.

—

 _precipice, propensity,_  
_every little piece._  
_building, straining,_  
_brand new world._

 _thread and needles,_  
_winding through,_  
_beneath our fingers,_  
_a familiar pattern_

 _preserve, procede_  
_throw it all in the fire_

—

This time, the card does not get hidden away, forgotten. This time, he enters the information to his phone, and offers his in return.

Superfluous, but appreciated for the gesture it is.

He tells his school counselor that he’d like to go to university, specialize in education or sports psychology. He wants to be a teacher or maybe a coach.

He has no future in playing basketball, but that does not mean basketball doesn’t have a future in him.

There is no need to rip himself away from that world entirely, jump headfirst into a world of shadow and flames and irreversible commitments.

There will be time for that later.


End file.
